"The Shadow Encounters the Smaller Light"
Several weeks later, on the night before Christmas Eve, Samuel found himself staying late at Musain. He told Combeferre just to go home, as he foresaw being there a long time over some work, and didn't want to keep him up. Combeferre complied, and Samuel looked after him for a moment fondly, feeling disgracefully like Manon looking after Feuilly. This thought jolted him out of it abruptly.
He was glad Combeferre had not asked about the work as, strictly speaking, there was none. What he really wanted was to talk to Courfeyrac. He wondered absently as he moved over to Courfeyrac's table if Combeferre had already known this.
Courfeyrac was rather drunk, he noted instantly.
"Hallo, Dimitri."
"Bonsoir, Courfeyrac. How is your ear?"
Courfeyrac giggled. "It took you that long to ask? Lord, you /are/ busy, Dimitri. My ear is fine, but Bahorel is still an idiot."
"Do you--"
"A complete idiot. I wonder why he talks so loud. He's always talking, always loud. I wish you would talk more. You're the only one who could drown him out."
"Courfeyrac, do you--"
"Would you like any of this wine? I feel impolite, drinking alone. It's nasty, but I've been unfortunate enough to have had worse."
"No, thank you." The trouble with Courfeyrac, Samuel thought sourly, was the he was mostly the same drunk as he was sober.
"Oh, well. I expect you'd like better stuff. That's proper. Our leader should not be reduced to our states. That's not at all proper. You shall have only the best. We all think so. Even Feuilly thinks so, I expect, and he's /Feuilly/, you know."
Samuel blinked. "Feuilly?"
"Yes."
Suddenly he thought of something. "How did you know I had been staying with Feuilly?"
"Silly of you, Dimitri. I'm part of the family. I told you--remember when I told you? I said I should love to be Feuilly's son's godfather. I asked. Now he's mine to corrupt. Oh, you may never let me near any of your children, but Feuilly had no such qualms. He thinks better of me than you do. You don't like me at all." Courfeyrac's finger trembled accusingly at Samuel. "Feuilly trusts me. You don't."
"No, I don't."
"You don't like me because I love life," Courfeyrac went on, ignoring him. "There's something wrong with you. There has been since I first met you. And you don't like me because I'm happy all the time. Why shouldn't I be happy, eh, Dimitri? Why shouldn't I?"
"I never said you shouldn't."
"Just because I want to be happy before I die. I want to be happy, and no one minds but you. Joly wants to be happy too. We're worried and we want to be happy. Joly's frightened. He believes in you and he doesn't want to die and he knows he could. He wants to be happy always so that he'll be happy if he does die." Unsuccessfully, Courfeyrac tried to straighten. "And me too. A lot of people get killed doing things like this. Not all of them. But some of them do. If we're the ones-- we don't think about it. And you don't like us because of that. Do you think we should be brave about it?"
"/No/," said Samuel roughly. Little as he would have minded Courfeyrac's losing his ear, or perhaps his tongue, Samuel did not want him dead.
"Yes, you do."
"Courfeyrac..."
"Shall I be silent? Are you tired of hearing me go on? I'm not sorry. Feuilly trusts me with /his/ child."
"I don't have any children to trust you with. Now, Courfeyrac--"
"Pah! I won't have it. I'll go on loving life."
"Courfeyrac, may I help you home?"
To his utter astonishment, Courfeyrac stood unsteadily. "Oh, very well. But I won't stop loving life and I won't stop talking and that's that. You're so annoying. You don't trust Joly and myself and poor Bossuet to love your precious revolution just because we love it a different way. I won't stop talking."
He was as good as his word, and by the time Samuel was making his way back to his own apartment, he would have been glad never to be spoken to by Courfeyrac again. However, he had listened.
He wondered if Dimitri would have listened. He wondered if the old Samuel would have listened. But there was no profit in wondering. He had listened, because only by listening would he understand his Amis.
And he might not be able to stand some of them, but he must understand them all.
Several weeks later, on the night before Christmas Eve, Samuel found himself staying late at Musain. He told Combeferre just to go home, as he foresaw being there a long time over some work, and didn't want to keep him up. Combeferre complied, and Samuel looked after him for a moment fondly, feeling disgracefully like Manon looking after Feuilly. This thought jolted him out of it abruptly.
He was glad Combeferre had not asked about the work as, strictly speaking, there was none. What he really wanted was to talk to Courfeyrac. He wondered absently as he moved over to Courfeyrac's table if Combeferre had already known this.
Courfeyrac was rather drunk, he noted instantly.
"Hallo, Dimitri."
"Bonsoir, Courfeyrac. How is your ear?"
Courfeyrac giggled. "It took you that long to ask? Lord, you /are/ busy, Dimitri. My ear is fine, but Bahorel is still an idiot."
"Do you--"
"A complete idiot. I wonder why he talks so loud. He's always talking, always loud. I wish you would talk more. You're the only one who could drown him out."
"Courfeyrac, do you--"
"Would you like any of this wine? I feel impolite, drinking alone. It's nasty, but I've been unfortunate enough to have had worse."
"No, thank you." The trouble with Courfeyrac, Samuel thought sourly, was the he was mostly the same drunk as he was sober.
"Oh, well. I expect you'd like better stuff. That's proper. Our leader should not be reduced to our states. That's not at all proper. You shall have only the best. We all think so. Even Feuilly thinks so, I expect, and he's /Feuilly/, you know."
Samuel blinked. "Feuilly?"
"Yes."
Suddenly he thought of something. "How did you know I had been staying with Feuilly?"
"Silly of you, Dimitri. I'm part of the family. I told you--remember when I told you? I said I should love to be Feuilly's son's godfather. I asked. Now he's mine to corrupt. Oh, you may never let me near any of your children, but Feuilly had no such qualms. He thinks better of me than you do. You don't like me at all." Courfeyrac's finger trembled accusingly at Samuel. "Feuilly trusts me. You don't."
"No, I don't."
"You don't like me because I love life," Courfeyrac went on, ignoring him. "There's something wrong with you. There has been since I first met you. And you don't like me because I'm happy all the time. Why shouldn't I be happy, eh, Dimitri? Why shouldn't I?"
"I never said you shouldn't."
"Just because I want to be happy before I die. I want to be happy, and no one minds but you. Joly wants to be happy too. We're worried and we want to be happy. Joly's frightened. He believes in you and he doesn't want to die and he knows he could. He wants to be happy always so that he'll be happy if he does die." Unsuccessfully, Courfeyrac tried to straighten. "And me too. A lot of people get killed doing things like this. Not all of them. But some of them do. If we're the ones-- we don't think about it. And you don't like us because of that. Do you think we should be brave about it?"
"/No/," said Samuel roughly. Little as he would have minded Courfeyrac's losing his ear, or perhaps his tongue, Samuel did not want him dead.
"Yes, you do."
"Courfeyrac..."
"Shall I be silent? Are you tired of hearing me go on? I'm not sorry. Feuilly trusts me with /his/ child."
"I don't have any children to trust you with. Now, Courfeyrac--"
"Pah! I won't have it. I'll go on loving life."
"Courfeyrac, may I help you home?"
To his utter astonishment, Courfeyrac stood unsteadily. "Oh, very well. But I won't stop loving life and I won't stop talking and that's that. You're so annoying. You don't trust Joly and myself and poor Bossuet to love your precious revolution just because we love it a different way. I won't stop talking."
He was as good as his word, and by the time Samuel was making his way back to his own apartment, he would have been glad never to be spoken to by Courfeyrac again. However, he had listened.
He wondered if Dimitri would have listened. He wondered if the old Samuel would have listened. But there was no profit in wondering. He had listened, because only by listening would he understand his Amis.
And he might not be able to stand some of them, but he must understand them all.